


Force Your Hand

by domesticadventures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Curses, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Touching, Witches, so anyway this is the cuddling version of fuck or die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7073641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He decides that he isn’t going to wait for Sam to do the witch’s bidding. He’s going to be goddamn proactive is what he’s gonna do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Force Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainshakespear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainshakespear/gifts).



> this idea was shamelessly stolen from a twitter convo between [michelle](http://captainshakespear.tumblr.com/) and [vivian](http://some-stars.tumblr.com/) and is miraculously being posted in time for michelle's birthday because of [cecilia's](http://femmechester.tumblr.com/) affectionate bullying :D

It used to be easy, hunting witches. All Dean had to think about were the evil pacts and the spewing fluids and his course of action became clear: track them down, kill them off.

Which is why it’s so annoying that this particular witch messes up the perfectly good routine Dean had settled into.

They track the witch down, like they always do, but this time, as they corner him, he looks so young and panicked that for a second, it gives them pause.

It used to be simple. Hunters good, witches bad. Nowadays, though, there’s the internet. There’re a lot more people just dabbling, not having any real ill intent. A lot more people getting into stuff they don’t know nearly enough about. Witchiness just isn’t what it used to be.

Honest to God, Dean catches himself thinking, “Kids these days.”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” he says, and kind of means it. He means to mean it, depending on how this goes. “Just knock it off with the spells, all right?”

The kid sneers at him, scoffs, twists futilely in Sam’s grasp. When he speaks, his voice is dripping with sarcasm that just barely fails to cover up the true panicked fear underneath. He says, “As if trying to get by in this world wasn’t hard enough, do you have any idea how hard it is to exist in the same world as the _Winchesters?_ ” At Dean’s put-off look, he sing-songs, “‘Just knock it off with the spells.’ Easy for you to say. You don’t need magic just to be able to _live._ Can you imagine living in a world where your choice is to die without magic or to live with it, even if it’s just minor harmless crap, not even hurting anyone? Always living in fear, always looking over your shoulder, wondering when Sam and Dean are going to come for you?”

Dean meets Sam’s eyes, and even from twenty feet away, he can see Sam, who is way too caring for his own good, shifting into his ready-to-apologize mode.

Sam relaxes just enough that the kid is able to twist one arm from his grasp. Sam immediately grabs him and cuffs him, but it’s too late. He’s had just enough time to sling a spell at Dean as he spits, “Reap what you sow.”

For a second, nothing seems different. Dean feels fine, and he’s just thinking, “Well, he’s just a kid, after all,” when across the room, Cas drops his blade with a gasp and doubles over.

Dean feels his heart stop.

He immediately runs to Cas, placing a hand on his shoulder and saying, “Cas? You okay?”

Cas draws in a deep, steadying breath. He straightens, and though he’s still frowning, he nods hesitantly.

Dean drops his hand and turns back around to the witch. He demands, “What did you do to him?”

From behind him, Cas hisses in pain and grabs onto Dean’s arm to keep from keeling over. Dean can feel his own heart racing, whether directly or indirectly from the spell.

The weird thing is, the guy looks confused. Like this wasn’t what he was expecting would happen. “I didn’t do anything to _him_ ,” he says. “I--”

That’s as far as he gets before Dean is rushing forward and grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “I swear to God,” he says, “if you don’t undo this spell right goddamn now, I’ll--”

The kid looks scared for all of two seconds before his face shifts back into a sneer. “Or what? You’ll kill me and never be able to reverse it? You’ll let your friend die?”

Dean is about ready to throttle him right then and there, but before he has the chance, Cas cries out in pain. In the split second it takes him to look over his shoulder, Cas has fallen to his hands and knees. Even from here, Dean can see Cas is shaking.

When he looks back towards the kid, he meets Sam’s eyes in a silent plea. Sam gives the barest nod, a silent _Go to him_.

Dean does. He lets go of the witch’s shirt and rushes to Cas, placing one hand on his back in a way he hopes is soothing. As Cas stops shaking and catches his breath, Dean helps him stand.

“You good?” he asks in a low voice, hoping the damn witch won’t be able to tell how legitimately freaked out he is.

Cas grimaces. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It seems to come and go.”

“Hang in there while I force the counterspell out of this asshat,” Dean says. He pats Cas on the arm reassuringly, but as he steps away, he can hear Cas’ breath catch around the pain. Dean swallows around a lump in his throat, trying to reassure himself with the fact that at least Cas is still upright, bracing himself against the wall.

When he turns back to the witch, the kid has a curious, gleeful look in his eyes. “Wow,” he says, “this is rich.”

“What do you mean?” Dean demands. “What the hell did you do?”

The look in the guy’s eyes immediately hardens. He says, “Nothing worse than your kind has done to my friends.”

“Fix it,” Dean says. “ _Now._ ”

The witch rolls his eyes. “You want your… _friend_ back in fighting shape? Be a decent human being for once and help someone other than your friends or your precious vanilla mortals.”

Dean would really, really love to tell the guy to go fuck himself, but he can hear Cas breathing hard through his teeth from behind him. He glances at Sam over the kid’s shoulder. Sam gives the barest shrug. Nods at him solemnly. Dean grits his teeth and says, “Fine. We’ll play ball. What is this gonna take.”

“You’re gonna do whatever I want,” the witch says. “And then you’re going to let me go, and you’re going to hope I never see you again.”

\--

It turns out, thankfully, that what the guy wants isn’t terribly complicated -- some marks off his record, some of his friends busted out of jail, that kind of thing. It’s just going to take some time, is all.

Sam leads the guy to the car by the cuffs as Dean helps Cas out of the building with a firm grip on his elbow. Dean’s actually kind of impressed that he can even walk given the state he’s been in the past few minutes. He’s even more surprised that by the time they get to the car, Cas is breathing normally and looks fine.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asks.

“It seems to have subsided for the time being,” Cas says, as Dean lets go of his arm so he can slide into the back seat with the witch.

He spoke too soon, of course. They haven’t even been driving for five minutes before Cas starts getting worse again. The fact that the witch keeps snickering to himself certainly isn’t helping.

Dean’s unease grows and grows until he can’t stand it any more. They pull over to the side of the road, Dean pulling the witch’s arms over the seat to cuff him to the steering wheel before he gestures to Sam to step outside so they can talk.

“We can’t drag Cas along in this state,” Sam says.

“No shit,” Dean adds unhelpfully.

Sam simply frowns sympathetically. “Let me drop you guys off back at the motel. I’ll go take care of everything.”

Dean’s protest dies on his lips when he glances over at the car and can see Cas leaning with his forehead pressed against the window, breaths coming in short, quick gasps that fog up the glass. “Fine,” he says, “but you need anything, you call.”

Sam nods. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s just going to be a lot of paperwork.”

Dean tosses Sam the keys as he walks back to the Impala and slides into the passenger seat. Sam unhooks the witch from the wheel and starts the drive back to the motel, Cas white-knuckled as he grips the back of the seat, Dean gripping his own knees as he sits by helplessly.

When they get back to the motel, Dean helps Cas out of the back seat, leading him inside as Sam takes off with the witch. By the time they get into the room, the door swinging shut behind them, Cas seems like he’s doing better. Dean deposits him on the end of one of the beds with another pat on the shoulder, hoping that this time, their good luck holds for a little longer.

It doesn’t, of course. Just a few short minutes later, Cas back to breathing shakily and clenching his hands in the ugly motel comforter. This is the worst part, Dean thinks -- the part where it keeps them guessing.

He decides, in that moment, that he isn’t going to wait for Sam to do the witch’s bidding. He’s going to be goddamn proactive is what he’s gonna do.

They’d only managed to track the kid down in the first place because Sam had managed to break into his google account. Once they had access to all of his bookmarks and emails and browser history, it was just a few clicks before Sam had figured out where the kid was hiding out.

Dean takes another look through the witch’s browser history, but it doesn’t yield anything fruitful, just pages and pages of Tumblr links. He tries the bookmarks next, and when he clicks a little multicolored icon on the bookmarks bar, he winds up on a Google drive where the first folder is titled “spells.”

“Yahtzee,” Dean says under his breath, clicking the folder. He feels a little less lucky as he glances through the contents. They’re spells, all right, and some are named usefully -- “for motion sickness,” “fog,” “charge cell phone.” The vast majority, though, are random assortments of letters, as though the kid hadn’t bothered to do anything other than smash his hands on the keyboard.

Dean sighs as he opens a document helpfully titled “aajklasjg.”

“Any luck?” Cas asks, when Dean isn’t even half a dozen documents in. He’s covered in a fine sheen of sweat, eyes squeezed closed as he forces the question out through his clenched jaw.

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. “Working on it,” he says, and wills himself to read faster.

Ten minutes and a couple dozen documents later, something catches his eye. He glances through the description of the spell -- its intent, its effects, the simple gesture and phrase needed to cast it.

_Manifest your victim’s fears,_ he reads. _Force them to face the things of which they are most afraid._

Dean pauses with his hand hovering over the keyboard. He looks up at Cas, clearly hurting. He thinks about how he wants to go to him but has been fighting against it, trying not to be too overbearing, too needy, too...much. He’s pretty sure he’s always been fighting against getting too close to Cas, actually. Always trying to avoid doing anything that might clue Cas in, that might push him away.

He thinks about how the curse had seemed to subside every time he got over himself long enough to grab Cas by the arm, to place his hand on Cas’ shoulder.

_Fears made manifest,_ Dean thinks. _Fuck._

Dean closes the laptop. He looks at Cas, curling into himself against the pain. He tries to swallow his fear as he asks, “How you doing?”

“It’s getting worse,” Cas grits out.

Dean hesitates for a moment longer before he manages to say, “I’m gonna try something, okay?”

Cas nods, so Dean gets up, walks over to the bed, and drops down to sit next to Cas. When he takes Cas’ hand in his own, the effect is almost immediate. Cas’ breathing becomes less strained. His muscles relax. He looks so damn relieved, and Dean mentally kicks himself for not figuring this shit out sooner.

Cas looks up at him, his expression a mixture of relief and confusion. He says, “What did--”

Dean shrugs as if this whole situation is no big deal. “I was reading through the kid’s spells and think I found whatever he slung at us. Figured this might help.”

Cas doesn’t ask for further explanation. He simply nods, accepting this temporary solution. For a second, Dean dares to think that maybe it means more than he knows it does -- that maybe Cas has been wanting this just as badly as he has. His brain catches up to him quickly, though. _No, don’t be stupid,_ he tells himself. _He’s just so relieved to not be in agony. Of course he’s not gonna question it._

“Anyway,” Dean says, “now we kill time while we wait for Sam to earn us our permanent solution.” He grabs the remote and turns on the TV for the sake of having something to do.

An hour in, Dean would be hard pressed to give even a vague description of whatever they’ve been watching. He can’t stop thinking: I’m holding Cas’ hand. He’s wanted this for a long time, and now that it’s actually happening, he isn’t doing it because he wants to. He’s doing it because he has to. Something about that makes his stomach turn. Makes unable to focus on anything other than the fact that he’s only in this position right now because he was forced into it, not because he finally managed to work up the courage to just do it on his own.

Dean tries to be angry at the witch who fucking _cursed_ him instead of at himself and doesn’t entirely succeed. Cas has spent the past few hours suffering because of him, because these are _his_ fears made manifest, not Cas’, because this is what happens when Dean wants something, this is just par for the fucking course. But even so, even in spite of all that, Dean still wants it. Dean is still happy to be sitting here, holding Cas’ hand. It feels, more than anything, like he’s stealing something from Cas.

Dean tries to will away his guilt and his shame, and he doesn’t succeed at that, either.

Dean manages to make it through another two episodes of a show he doesn’t watch and a series of texts from Sam that all amount to “not yet” before he had to get up to go to the bathroom. He wants desperately to take his time, to stand by himself in front of the sink and steel his resolve, but he keeps picturing the look on Cas’ face before Dean had sat next to him, before he had grabbed his hand. It keeps him moving as quickly as he can, but even that isn’t quick enough. Cas is pale and shaking by the time he gets back.

Dean makes it back to the bed in a few long strides, but even when he takes Cas’ hand again, the pain doesn’t seem to subside all the way. Cas still looks nauseous, and his palm is sweaty where it’s pressed against Dean’s.

“I’m fine,” Cas says, in response to Dean’s concerned look. He glares at the TV resolutely, as though determined to prove the truth of his own statement.

“Okay,” Dean says carefully, even though he knows it’s bullshit. Sure enough, within minutes, Cas is back to shuddering and grinding his teeth. He’s gripping Dean’s hand so tightly that it hurts.

“Hey,” Dean says, lifting their linked hands. “Let go a second.”

Cas releases him immediately, looking contrite. He says, “I’m sor--”

“Don’t,” Dean says. “C’mere.” He slides his newly freed arm around Cas’ waist and pulls him closer. When he holds out his other hand, Cas takes it.

“Thank you,” Cas says, gratitude clear in his expression before he sighs in relief and drops his head onto Dean’s shoulder.

Dean’s stomach twists again. He thinks, _I’m enjoying this, I_ wanted _this, and if I had just gone for it before, if I had just had the fucking guts, Cas wouldn’t be in such pain right now, this is all happening because of me._

He thinks, bitterly, that the spell is doing a great job of living up to its description. He’s scared.

And, on top of everything, it’s clear Cas is getting worse. He’s pressed close against Dean’s side, but sometime during the last bout of Dean’s self-loathing, he started gasping against Dean’s shirt. He lets out a pained noise as Dean shifts to check his phone.

Sam’s latest text reads, _Idk, probably a couple more hours at least._

Dean sets down his phone. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. He decides that if there was ever a time to face his fears, this is it.

“I’m gonna,” Dean starts. He clears his throat. “Uh. I’m gonna hold you, okay?”

It’s apparently all Cas can do to nod desperately. Dean shifts on the bed, moving to lie down and pull Cas along with him so they’re pressed up against one another from head to toe. Cas chokes out a relieved sob as he settles with his head resting on Dean’s chest, fingers clenching into the fabric of his shirt. Dean lets out a shaky breath of his own.

“I’m sorry,” Cas mumbles against Dean’s chest. “I know this must be uncomfortable for you.”

“No,” Dean says, before he can filter himself. “It’s. It’s not that. I just.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he gathers his thoughts and his courage. “I wanted this to just. Happen, you know? For us to get here without being forced to by some shitty curse.”

Cas is quiet for a moment, but when he speaks, he says, “I wanted this, too.” He pauses, as if reconsidering. “Want this,” he amends.

Dean can’t seem to find the words to respond, so instead he covers Cas’ hand with his own, using his other to rub Cas’ back soothingly. Within minutes he’s asleep, breath warm and even against Dean’s chest.

Cas is still asleep by the time Sam gets back later that night. “I see you’ve got this under control,” he says affectionately.

“I. I just,” Dean stammers, feeling his face flush. He doesn’t move. “The--the curse uh--okay, you know--you know what, this is serious, don’t--don’t make this into a joke.”

Sam laughs softly as he opens the door wider and the witch materializes next to him. He unlocks the handcuffs and watches the kid intently as he works the counterspell. As soon as he’s done, the witch turns and leaves without another word.

Cas wakes as the door clicks closed.

“Hey,” Dean says softly. “Good news. No more curse.”

“Oh,” Cas says blearily. “I know this has been. Inconvenient. I’ll get up.” He starts to move, but it’s hesitant, uncertain. Like he’s remembering their earlier conversation but isn’t quite sure whether or not it was a pain-induced hallucination.

“Nah,” Dean says. “It’s cool. You can just. Go back to sleep here. Like this. If you want.”

He can feel Cas’ smile as he settles back against him.

\--

They stop for lunch the next day on their drive back to the bunker. Cas has assured Dean, each of the several dozen times he’s asked, that he isn’t feeling any ill effects from the spell.

Still, when Cas reaches his hand across the table, Dean takes it.


End file.
